


Live Long and Prosper

by wingsyouburn



Category: Highlander: The Series, Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Future Fic, Gen, Non Canonical Immortal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:15:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21759661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingsyouburn/pseuds/wingsyouburn
Summary: Old friends wander in and out of each other's lives.
Comments: 16
Kudos: 66
Collections: Highlander Secret Santa (ShortCuts) 2019





	Live Long and Prosper

**Author's Note:**

  * For [merriman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/merriman/gifts).



> For merriman <3 Your request mentioned a crossover with TNG, and I couldn't let go of the idea of Immortal!Picard. Especially since Sir Patrick Stewart still looks almost the same as he did when the show originally aired. I hope this is up your alley!

Quiet bars on weeknights were one of Methos’ favorite places. The only people who came out to Joe’s on a Tuesday evening were the regulars. Most popped in after work for a beer or two, but the crowds were gone by 8 at night.

Adam Pierson was the sort of guy who would spend his free nights in a bar. It helped that the house band who played during the week was decent, and Joe was working too. Methos could get used to this sort of routine.

It never lasted. He wouldn’t be sleeping on MacLeod’s couch for long. Eventually he’d have to find his own apartment or move on again, but this was fun. So often he found himself hidden away from the world for the sake of self-preservation, but he didn’t feel the need to do that right now.

When he did, he wouldn’t feel bad about leaving, either. When it was time, Methos would know.

“Where did you dig up these guys, anyway?” Methos asked Joe, gesturing to the band. “You should have them playing on Saturday nights, when the crowds come in.”

Joe wiped down the counter in front of him. “Ricky on the bass is my lead bartender on Saturday nights,” he said, pointing the man out to Methos. “Makes more money tending bar than I can pay him to play. He’s a chill guy. You’d like him.”

“Maybe I’ll stop by to say hi,” Methos said, raising his glass in a toast. “Or not. Enough people here already know who I am.” Duncan MacLeod was a magnet for trouble, or maybe Seacouver was cursed. Already his life was more interesting than it had been in Paris. Yet another reason why Methos didn’t like staying in one place for too long if he could help it.

“Now you sound like the old man telling the kids to get off his lawn,” Joe said, laughing. Methos flicked a peanut at him. “And you’re just being childish. Aren’t you supposed to act your age?”

“Why would I ever want to do that?”

Before Methos could say anything else, a telltale shudder went up his spine. He straightened on the bar stool, his body tensing. Joe noticed, one hand slipping beneath the bar. Methos couldn’t tell if he was reaching for the sword or the gun he kept back there. Casually, he cast a glance towards the door. This didn’t feel like MacLeod’s Quickening, nor Richie’s, but Seacouver was a hotspot for Immortal activity.

The man was dressed in a casual blazer and dress pants in a suitable dark blue. The tan button-down shirt was likewise unremarkable, the first few buttons undone. A trench coat draped over his arm, hiding the blade Methos figured was hidden inside it. Cool eyes scanned the crowd. His hair was balding, a ring of white remaining around the back of his head. Wrinkles lined his forehead and the corners of his eyes. At first glance, his age was hard to pinpoint - he could have passed anywhere from his early 40s to into his 70s. Methos knew the truth.

His eyes fell on Methos’, and his face broke out into a grin. “Charles!” he called, flagging him down. Even after all these years, his British-laced accent was still intact. “I did not expect to see you here!”

Methos’ posture eased, and he slid off the barstool. “Jean-Luc,” he said, chuckling. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

“As are you, my friend.” Jean-Luc came forward and clasped Methos by the shoulder, drawing him into a brief hug. Behind the bar, Joe raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. “What brings you to Seacouver?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing.” Pulling back, Methos gestured to the bar. “Come, sit a spell. We’ve a lot to catch up on.”

Two centuries earlier, Jean-Luc Picard had been a weary solider, a former general in the French Royal Army. Killed in the wake of the French Revolution and unsure why he’d been resurrected, Methos had taken the man in, given him shelter and his first non-military sword. They bonded over a shared love of knowledge, books, and tea. Methos became Jean-Luc’s first teacher, instructing him on the ways of the Game and how to survive as an Immortal. Like Duncan MacLeod, Methos always considered Jean-Luc to be one of the good ones. Perhaps too good, putting the needs of the many above the needs of the few, but only time would tell in that regard.

Methos hadn’t seen him since he took a boat for the Americas and became Dr. Benjamin Adams in the early 1800s. Through his contacts with the Watchers, he knew Jean-Luc was still around, doing what he did best. He led those around him, joining more than one country’s army over the years. It wasn’t for Methos, but it served Jean-Luc well.

Sometimes maintaining the records pertaining to his own life meant hiding his connections to those who might someday come looking for him. He didn’t hold a beef with Jean-Luc, far from it. They had parted on amicable terms all those years ago. But Jean-Luc didn’t know the truth about who he was, and he was better off that way. Methos could pass himself off as only being a few centuries’ old when he had to. He’d had plenty of practice.

“I did not think you would frequent dive bars on weeknights,” Jean-Luc said, taking a seat at the bar.

“Apparently you haven’t seen him in a while,” Joe said, chuckling. “What can I get you?”

“Scotch, neat, please and thank you.” Jean-Luc bowed his head to Joe. “It has been several years, at least. You appear well.”

“Alive, at least.” The bar was mostly empty, but Methos still glanced around to see where the other patrons were. A few tables were occupied by the stage, and the young couple at the other end of the counter were packing up their things to leave. “Also, you can speak freely. Joe owns this establishment. He knows.”

Jean-Luc raised an eyebrow. “He knows how much?”

“Everything.” Joe slid his glass in front of him. “Secret’s safe with me.”

“I’ve heard that before,” Jean-Luc said. Evenly, without a trace of emotion or disregard; just a statement of fact. “And been burned by it. My secrets are my own.”

Methos hid his smirk behind a sip of beer. The Watchers didn’t believe in secrets, and Methos believed in using the Watchers to his own advantage. The only secrets the Watchers knew about him were the ones Methos chose to give them. Jean-Luc would not have the same reaction, he was sure. Too much pride, too much desire to do the right thing. It was for the best that the Watchers stayed out of the conversation.

“No offense taken,” Joe said, holding up a hand. The edge of his Watcher’s tattoo peaked out from his shirt sleeve. “But I know what he is. I assume you’re the same.”

Jean-Luc searched his eyes. He’d always been good at reading people, and while Methos hadn’t exactly come clean about his age - how could he, knowing that he was both myth and legend? - he never tried to be dishonest with the man. After a second, he offered Joe a hand to shake. “I’m Commander Jean-Luc Picard, of the British Navy.”

“British?” Methos snorted. “You’ve changed sides.”

“No place for me in France at the moment,” Jean-Luc said. “It’s… been a long time, since I’ve been home.”

For most Immortals, that was the case. Methos had advised Jean-Luc to leave France after his first death, and he knew his old friend had taken his advice then. Some, like Methos, couldn’t remember where home was anymore. Only glimpses in his memory, which was part of why he’d taken to writing things down in his private journals. Those records the Watchers would never get to see. “Here, here,” he said, raising his beer to Jean-Luc.

“Joe Dawson.” Joe shook his hand, nodding, but didn’t add anything onto his title than that. “Adam here has been a pain in my ass for a couple years now.”

“Please, you say that like I don’t patronize your establishment every night.” Methos rolled his eyes.

“Every night except busy weekends,” Joe continued, “and you _still_ haven’t paid your bar tab.”

“Are you in a bit of trouble, my friend?” Jean-Luc asked, his eyes twinkling. “Do you require my help?”

He shoved the Frenchman, harder than he intended. Jean-Luc didn’t move, just laughed at him. “Hush. I’m fine.” No more so than he ever was, anyway. And if trouble came for him again, and MacLeod didn’t decide he had to deal with it first, then Methos would reinvent himself again. Adam Pierson had been good to him, though. Perhaps it was an alias he’d keep for a while. “It’s a good bar, this place. Seacouver I can take or leave, but the company is good. What brings you this way? You’re a bit far from the British Navy.”

“Shore leave of sorts,” Jean-Luc said. “It’s time to do something new for a change, and I’ve yet to figure out what that is. Taking the scenic route up the West Coast. I’ve never been to the States much.”

“I don’t think you’re missing anything,” Joe said. “I’m a Chicago boy myself. Miss home a bit, but it’s nice to be settled here.”

Part of that was Joe’s assignment watching MacLeod. Methos knew enough of their situation - though Duncan took a lot of heads, especially in the last few years, he also stayed in one location. He wasn’t like Amanda, flitting from place to place, keeping her Watcher on his toes. Methos had only met the kid once, but he was spry and excited to know that he got the infamous Immortal thief as his assignment. Joe had the knowledge and the skill to watch someone of Duncan’s caliber, while also being able to keep his own business at the same time. His friendship with Duncan helped, too, no matter what the higher ups said.

Methos was his own Watcher. It was the best of both worlds.

“Mmm. California was nice, but the city’s not for me,” Jean-Luc said. “Lost three months in the wineries, if I’m being honest.”

“You should head back to that someday,” Methos pointed out. “You had mentioned your family once had a winery back in France. You could take up the family tradition. It might suit you.” Jean-Luc had spoken at length about his family years ago - trying to make his parents proud by joining the military, sending his pay home to take care of the family land. All that had been lost to him in the wake of his first death, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t strive to get it back someday.

Jean-Luc shook his head. “Perhaps, in the future. We’ve time to consider that, but… I keep waiting for a time when it will feel right, being in one place long term. But it never does. The itch to explore returns.” He nudged Methos. “What of you? What have you been doing since I saw you last? You’d left on a boat for the Americas. Something about being a doctor.”

“A doctor?” Joe grinned. “You’re telling me you have a phD hanging around somewhere and you haven’t told me?”

“None of your business,” Methos said, holding up a finger to silence him. “That was two centuries ago, and people asked fewer questions then. I’ve no business wanting to get into the healthcare field again.” Especially not with the mess Americans called health insurance these days. “I’m a researcher. Antiques and historical figures, mostly. Lots of translations. I’d say it’s boring work, but I’m sure you’d find it fascinating.”

“Of course. You do know how much I like remembering our days past.” When they first met, Jean-Luc had been able to tell him about every major battle the French military had won back to the turn of the millennia. Some battles Methos had to research later, just to be sure that they’d really happened. But those records weren’t what interested him the most. Nor was he going to tell Jean-Luc he was in charge of researching himself, and doctoring said records to keep his identity hidden. His old friend would not approve. “What are you working on now?” Jean-Luc asked.

“Boring things,” Methos said instead. “Land claims, mostly. Ancient arguments over which feudal lord had a right to this field or that field. Even back then, people were as petty as they were now.”

“My friend, people are capable of beautiful and extraordinary things,” Jean-Luc insisted. “You’ve just been too cynical to see it.”

Methos shook his head. “No, I’m a realist. I’ve had more time in the Game than you. I know how this works.” And he’d seen it from many perspectives - from the beggar who had nothing, dying of thirst a thousand times over in an unforgiving desert, to the conquering warmonger raiding village after village to sate his desire for blood. Humanity didn’t change over the years, only evolved better weapons and new ways to kill each other. Hence Methos kept his sword handy and knew when it was time to disappear. “But I suppose the world needs its optimists.” Methos raised his glass to Jean-Luc. “To old friends.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Joe agreed, clinking his glass against Methos’.

“As will I.” Jean-Luc smiled. “To old friends, and new,” he tilted his head towards Joe, “and to keeping in touch better than we have in the past.”

“Here, here,” Methos murmured, and all three men drank.

Jean-Luc stayed another hour before he took off for the night, leaving Methos with a phone number and an email address. “So we won’t lose touch again,” Jean-Luc said, bowing to them both before ducking out the door and into the night.

Joe watched him go, curious. “I’m going to have to look him up in the Chronicles sometime,” he said. “Seems like a decent guy.”

“One of the best,” Methos agreed. “Reminds me of someone else we know.”

“Think we should introduce him to Mac?”

Methos chuckled. “Maybe eventually. Or their paths will cross on their own. Who knows what the future will hold?” For him, it was enough to know that time still stretched before him as long as he played his cards right.

“Or he could meet Amanda.”

“Now that I’d almost pay to see.” They’d either get along famously or hate each other, and Methos would be amused either way. “And on that note, I’m off. Same time tomorrow?”

Rolling his eyes, Joe waved him off. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be here. I’m assuming this goes on your tab?”

“What’s the point of a bar tab otherwise?” Methos grinned, sliding on his trench coat. “See you later.”

His life in Seacouver was a quiet one, even with one of the infamous Highlanders living in town. It suited Adam Pierson and the man he was pretending to be now. His only hope was that his old friend Jean-Luc could find that home for himself someday.

* * *

Three centuries later, when Seacouver and the bar were just fond memories, Methos received a message from Jean-Luc Picard. 

“My ship shall be passing through Vulcan space in the next week,” the recorded voice said. His uniform was the red and black of Starfleet command. “I would be honored if you join me aboard the _Enterprise_. It has been too long, my old friend.” 

Methos smiled. Far too few of their kind were left now - and fewer still who remembered what life was like on Earth before first contact. With the discovery of life on other planets and the invention of warp technology, it made the Game a much more interesting challenge. Duncan had settled on various planets over the years, helping wherever he could. Amanda had her own ship, galavanting amongst the stars. 

And Methos could hide and reinvent himself whenever he needed to. Right now, he had a small apartment on Vulcan, studying amongst their scholars. In another galactic year or two, that would change. 

He settled in front of the console with a fresh cup of tea in hand. Earl Grey, Jean-Luc’s favorite. Some habits from Earth still remained, even if the beer didn’t taste the same as it used to. Romulan ale, on the other hand, made up for it. Leaning back in his chair, he tapped the console, sending a message back. 

“Jean-Luc, you are a sight for sore eyes. I find myself with extra time on my hands and an itch for knowledge. Let us travel together once more.” 


End file.
